Just a little Bonding
by Forgetful01
Summary: i see so many people talking about how blackrom is so poorly portrayed in the fandom what with noncon and no real caring about the other person in the relationship so yeah heres my take on blackrom


You had always been a masochist, damn you, but fuck did you enjoy it. That was probably how you and the Juggalo (a word he hated more than anything) started what you called a fling at best. And you had to admit you didn't regret a single second of it.

Scientifically speaking, along the lines of body makeup, the troll just had the advantage. Long claws for nails that burned in the most pleasant way when they dragged down your back, sharp pinprick teeth that bit into your shoulder. You two both knew how much the other enjoyed it. So you started to experiment.

Your arms were the first thing to be bound, tight enough to rub the coarse rope against your skin until they were raw, clasping your elbows behind your back. You had to stand tall, perfectly straight, almost in a state of servitude. Gamzee trailed around you in a small circle, a low growling in the back of his throat. It was primal, feral, almost intimidating if you didn't know that Gamzee would stop if you asked him to. You may hate each other, but there was a respect in it. And going past what the other was consenting to just wasn't cool.

As he circled you, you tried your best to keep eye contact. Breaking it might set him off into a power kick, and not breaking it might do the same as well. Either way you went wasn't going to be good enough in the situation, which weirdly, made you want to prove yourself even more. Spitting insults of 'weak ass mother fuckin human' had grated on your nerves long enough.

Light touches to your shoulders as his claws dragged just barely over them sprouted goose bumps in their wake, your bare chest starting to feel tighter as you held your breath. The growling continued and you forced yourself to stay still, biting at the inside of your cheek to stop a taunt that wanted to sound. You knew it would only prolong what you really wanted, rather than accelerate it closer. Besides, what was the advice you always heard in elementary school? Come across a wild animal, stay still. You swallowed and internally nodded, doing just that.

Gamzee didn't seem to like that though, and his hand moved fast, three long red lines blossoming across your back and you hissed, arching your back away from him. Another wrong move and another mark appeared. Part of you wanted to keep displeasing him, just to feel those wonderful claws, but you decided against it. He growled a question in your direction and you didn't quite catch it, knowing that another swipe of his nails was coming when you didn't answer.

"I said, do you fuckin' like that Strider."

"Yes." You managed to say through gritted teeth.

"Yeah what?"

"Yes Juggalo." You spit in his direction.

He growled and suddenly his hand is on your throat, making you gasp and your knees nearly buckle from under you. "Don't you even dare be using that blasphemous spew in my face." His hand squeezed harder, making sure to cut off your airflow, and your knees buckle this time. His grip is the only thing keeping you supported, now kneeling, your gaze up to his. He smirks, obviously enjoying the position you're in now.

"Such a good mother fuckin' slut." He coos, his free hand running through your hair before giving it a harsh yank. "Ain't you?"

"Yes." You rasp, your reward being a chaste kiss before his grip leaves you entirely. You fall forward, your forehead pressed against the floor as you gasp for breath. His shoe settles on the back of your neck, forcing you down further. You don't resist the pressure, your hips staying up in the air and he runs a claw along your back.

"C'mon brother, talk to me."

You stay silent and he presses his shoe down harder against your neck. "I said mother fucking talk you little bitch."

"Please Gam," You manage out, your eyes shut tight. "Please."

"Please what brother?" He taunts, and you don't even have to look to know he's smiling.

"Fuck me."

He hums thoughtfully, before retreating and grabbing a length of rope from a box in the corner, looping it around your neck and through an iron hole in the floor, tight enough that you couldn't even properly lift your head. Then he did the same to your knees, keeping them bent and carefully tied the rope around the one on your neck. Unable to move in this position, you focus instead on your breathing, which is shallow and raspy.

You guess he's behind you now, as you feel his breath ghost over your thigh before a sharp pain pricked at your skin, making you arch your back. He hummed in approval, placing the harsh bites along your thigh until they're bruise bright purple. A zipper sounds and some rustling of cloth before something warm and slick trails over the bruises.

It's only a moment or two, before you can snap at him to just hurry up already (you've never been one for patience in bed) and he's already pushing inside. Your eyes widen and your jaw drops, your tongue slightly lolling over your bottom lip. He wastes no time, moving his hips fast, and you tug against the rope to rock back against him, gasping and stopping when the rope tightens around your throat. He breathes out a chuckle, snapping his hips forward harder.

"Heh..sorry mother fucker, you ain't to be movin' this time."

You groan against the floor, already feeling the rug burn breaking out over your knees and shoulders as the force of his hips push you forward and back. His hands are running everywhere over you except where you want them to, but at this rate you doubt you could handle it. Every movement of Gamzee's hips has you giving a muffled moan, audible even through the lip between your teeth. It's not long before you're gasping out, your body tensing and spine curling. The last snap of his hips tells you he's at the same point and you both groan out in unison, before slumping back against the floor.

He carefully pulls out and unties you, lifting you up and carries you to the bed, setting you down gently. He then wanders off, returning with a bottle of water, which you gratefully take a swig from, before he starts to tend the rope burns and scratch marks over your skin with a bottle of bactine. You hiss uncomfortably at the stinging but suck it up, and soon he tosses the cloth away, pulling you down onto the bed.

"Mm fuckin' tired." He yawns out, before burying his face into your hair. "Hate you bro."  
"Hate you too, juggaboo." You say, shutting your eyes as well.


End file.
